Volume one in The Cold Case Files -We meet our leading lady at 15 when she discovers her sexual nature
The Cold Case Files
One September evening at midnight I opened my bedroom window and stepped out on to my roof. I was fifteen years old. Earlier that day, I had been given two challenges. One, by my boyfriend Chad, was more a plea: defy my curfew and meet him down the road, just past the entrance Crest Wood Cemetery, where the bridge used to be. It was more of a ruin now, remembered only by those who were old enough to remember the old railroad line. The other was a threat, issued by a local girl named Patricia. She said simply, "Meet me on the bike path, just past Devil's Pit, and come alone."
I breathed in deep, eyes wide, smile wider, and walked confidentially around the roof, past my windows, past my brother's semi-circular lookout, and finally past my parent's room until I hit the ladder. And, down I went. But to which quarry....
Chad would want sex. I wasn't interested sex. It held no allure to me. Not that I was a prude or bound by morals, but my experiences with boys thus far had been rather lackluster. Even with the most attractive boy, afterward, I'd find myself staring up at his bedroom ceiling wondering, is that all there is? The idea of vanilla, teenage groping, quickie-sex with Chad sounded, well...boring.
The closest I had come to any sort of arousal was two weeks ago when Lindsay and I had smoked an entire bag of weed with three older boys in their car as we drove through town. We had met the guys outside of Stewart's, where they were buying gas. Since we did not recognize them, we figured they were from out of town. That's the way it was around here. We all knew each other. They were older. We figured them for nineteen, maybe twenty.
Lindsay sat in the front with the eldest guy, a fellow whose name I didn't catch, but who rocked a full head of Aqua-Net teased late-eighties hair. I was in the back with both a blond and an exceptionally attractive dark-haired boy whose name I also do not recall. Woozy from the pot, but in control, I stretched out between them, taking the blond in my arms and leaning up to kiss him on the lips. Eagerly, he returned my kiss and soon we were frenching right there in the car. Lazily, I spread my legs out over the other boy's lap. As the blond and I made out, he lifted a hand to my breast, a light touch against my apple size bosom. His other hand held against my back, bringing me up deftly to his lips. Surprisingly skilled for a boy his age. We rode on, oblivious to traffic and our fellow passengers in the front seat. If I was getting any excitement at all, it was from the possibility of being seen.
The blond unbuttoned the top button of my shirt and slipped his hand inside fingering against the edge of my bra. When I did not stop him, he undid another button, and then another. Before long, he had my shirt completely open and my bra unhooked. I was completely exposed. We were still in the back seat. Still driving through town. He traced one nipple with his fingers and then the other. I felt movement against my jeans. It wasn't necessary for me to take my eyes off the blond. I knew what was happening. The dark haired boy, who was probably around nineteen, was rubbing his hand against my pussy through my tight jeans. After a few moments, he popped open the top button and went for the zipper. We wore our jeans tight in those days and he couldn't get much further. Still making out wildly with the blond, and enjoying the idea of being on display, I lifted my ass cheeks in the air and brought my legs together a bit to help the dark haired one pull them off. To my surprise, the blond helped hold me up in order to accommodate the other boy.
With both of their help, I freed one leg out of my jeans and panties and hung it down to the side of the seat on the floor so that my legs were now spread open and I was laying on my back fully available to my strangers-partners. Each smiled at me in appreciation and delight. I scooted up a bit to get closer to the blond so that he could suckle my breasts. Lindsay looked back from the front seat and gave me a horrified glance, but I just smiled back and ran my hands through the blond's hair. Meanwhile, the other boy lubricated his index finger generously with his spit and slid it inside of me, while caressing my legs with his free hand. He was not as adept as the blond, but being taken by the two boys so openly was thrilling. Soon, the dark haired boy had two fingers inside of me and was moving them in and out with increasing intensity. He called for the driver to look at what they were doing to me. The poor driver -I never did get his name- nearly ran the car off the road...
Over the blond's head -he was still sucking hard on my tits- I watched the other guy as he continued fingering me, his cock straining against his jeans. Pushing himself against the wall of the cramped back seat, he unbuttoned his pants and his dick sprung forward like a newly freed prisoner. Sensing what was coming, the blond positioned himself behind me so that his hands were wrapped around me, each cupping a breast and propping me up just a bit. His friend spit generously on his hand and lubricated his dick as the blond helped push me toward him. Soon, one boy was fucking me while the other provided resistance on the other side. The three of us were so close together it was almost difficult to tell where one body stopped and the next began.
"Oh Fuck!" The guy inside me groaned...."I'm going to come."
After what seemed like just a few thrusts, he pulled his cock out of me and came hard on my belly and chest.
Almost embarrassed, he quickly pulled up his pants and tried to pull himself together. The blond, however was still feeling the strain of urgency against his jeans. With help from his friend, they turned me around and I allowed him to repeat the process. Soon he was inside of me fucking me hard, lasting a bit longer than his friend. Afterward, he shot cum on top of me, allowing it to land in a puddle with his friend's. Like the brown haired boy, he recovered quickly, dressing himself almost in shame.
I found the whole thing almost silly, but loved the boldness of being naked and covered in cum in a moving vehicle. Instead of putting my jeans back on, I kicked the other leg off and removed my shirt so I was now fully naked.
"Damn," one of the boys said.
After we drove for a bit, we pulled over and the driver got out and opened one of the back doors. Without saying anything the two guys in the back got out and mister metal-head leaned in.
"Let's go outside where we have more room," he said.
"OK" I said.
We were by the side of a country road in Upstate New York that got some traffic, but not a lot. Still naked, I sat on the hood of his car with him leaning into me between my legs. Feeling more daring, I lay back on the hood and spread my legs a little wider, an invitation for him to explore them with his fingers, which he did using first two then three. While he did this, The dark haired boy and blond suckled my nipples and kissed me from either side.
The Aqua-Net lover was much better endowed than his friends and his cock strained hard against the walls of my young pussy. As he thrust into me, I felt my body slide up on the car a bit toward the windshield. I grabbed a hold of his friends to keep from sliding off of the car while he pounded into me. "Oh God... you are hot, girl," he grunted, as he moved in and out. "Shit!"
After a while he tensed up and strained against me before pulling out and allowing his seed to spill out and mix with that with his friends' a top my naked body.
Before we were finished for the afternoon, I let each of them come on me twice, until I was covered like a mummy in a white, sticky film. It was such a wild experience, just being outside in public, used like that for anyone to see. In that way, it was very, very hot.
But.... did it get me off? No.
Sure, I loved the excitement of being exposed. The possibility of being caught. The absurdity of it all. The wrongness of it.
But was I stirred? Turned on? Moved? No.
And so it was, that on that breezy Sunday night in September, when I had two offers -one to meet a potential lover for a rendezvous, and one to meet my enemy for a potential confrontation -I chose the option which held the most promise for a bit of excitement. I walked down my parent's driveway, and the street I where I lived all of my life, past the entrance to Crest Wood Cemetery, through the old bridge long since gone, down the bike path, past the clearing in the woods called Devil's Pit -and just beyond it. There, I waited. For my enemy.
At 2:00pm the previous day, Patricia had confronted me over a game of pinball. To this day, that makes me laugh. Can you imagine such a thing happening today? I even remember the game. It was a crazy set-up based on Wonder Woman, and it stood in the front corner of a convenience store named, I swear to God, Convenience. It was a chain, if you can believe that. I was in there with my friend Sara. Sara and I were not popular girls. We were not unpopular either. I think we were just seen as a bit weird. I got away with it because, along with being a sort of an oddball, I was also, in all modesty, better-than-average-to-very-attractive. Attractive enough to have run with the popular kids if I wasn't, to use their words, nutty.
The things we remember. They all seemed like such assholes then. Of course, they probably weren't. Half were likely just struggling with growing up, or their emerging sexuality, or, perhaps like me, they had raging alcoholics at home to contend with.
So, this was the scene... if you can picture it:
I'm playing Wonder Woman. I am winning and on my fifth ball. I'm facing the scoreboard, which faces the wall, so I am not facing the door. The grocery store door swings open and the bells chime announcing a new customer. That customer is Patricia. On her heals are her two best friends. A girl named Tara, who can easily kick my ass into next week, and a slight little thing named Jennifer. Patricia hates me. She has good reason. In junior high, I had pulled off a series of petty crimes and, not wanting to get caught, blamed the first person I could think of -Patricia, a known troublemaker. It wasn't personal. I just didn't want to get punished.
My eyes are fixed on Wonder Woman. I'm trying for high score. Patricia says something to her friends, points in our direction, and laughs. Then they all laugh. I remember the laughing. It sounds cruel in that way that only kids are able to manage. The friends leave. Now, Patricia is walking toward us.
Sara is a coward. It might sound unkind of me to malign my friend, however, as it happens, it is the truth. It also happens to be important to the story....
Patricia approaches me from behind. Sara gives me no warning and instead steps away allowing Patricia to swing me violently toward her by the shoulder -ruining my chances at high score.
I do not recall what she said next. Here's what I do remember:
We are standing toe to toe. She is taller than I and has said something, making it my turn to speak. I pause, think for a moment, and then calmly say, "Patricia, by the end of this weekend, you will be dead."
Sara, who is crouched behind the gum isle pretending not to hear us, about falls over.
Patricia says, "Sunday night. Meet me on the bike path, just past Devil's Pit, and come alone." And then, almost as an afterthought, "If you have the guts."
That stupid pinball game changed my damn life.
It was quite late by the time I was far enough down the path that I was passing Devils Pit. The path had no lights and the darkness was oppressive. Calling this area a bike path was laughable. It was a small trail and ran from the cemetery on one end to the Martin Luther King housing project on the other with nothing in but woods and hoods in between. They might as well have called it the raping and robbing trail. Honestly, we were idiots to have used it at all, but we were stupid kids then.
I think she was surprised I showed.
Patricia was one year older than I. Sixteen to my fifteen and about my build. We were both petite. She was a bit more developed. More of a c-cup on top. Her hair was a light Irish-red and was offset by a pale freckled face which still held a bit of baby-fat. Her eyes were blue. That night her hair was loose around her shoulders. Looking back now, with adult eyes, I have to admit, she was stunning.
It was chilly the way it gets in New York in September. We were both shivering. I'm not sure we really knew what to do then, having both won this game of chicken.
Finally, she asked me if I wanted a cigarette. At the time I smoked, so I said yes. She handed me one and we both laughed, the situation somewhat diffused. Without speaking further, we started walking down the trail a bit and turned into the woods following a foot path toward Devil's Pit. The path into Devil's was narrow with a high hill on one side and a sharp drop on the other making it a comical gauntlet for drunken teenagers on Saturday nights -make it to the end, young one, and you are rewarded with this keg; slip to the side and you break your neck. This night was a Sunday, and no one was around but the two of us.
She asked me who I told about our meet up. I told her the truth, which was that I told no one. She nodded and said the same. When I asked her why she shrugged and said, "I figured you wouldn't show."
I took a drag of my cigarette and said, "So?"
Patricia turned toward me lifting one side of her mouth slightly in a crooked grin and added, "...and it would have been embarrassing if we scrapped and I lost."
I laughed out loud. "You saw this as a possibility?"
"People say you're a bit crazy. Didn't you knife that girl?"
I pulled a joint out of my leather coat, took a hit and offered her one. "Stories of my violence are overrated."
Patricia picked at the remains of a fire pit which must have been made the night before. She reached back and asked for my lighter. With impressive speed, she put together a warm blaze using twigs and left over beer cartons. We sat on large logs next to it and passed another joint, feeling the warmth of a shared high between us.
The conversation went something like this;
"You're not so bad you know," she said, her eyes half open.
"You're pretty," she said.
I raised my eyebrows.
She looked down, studying the log with the intensity of a science project.
"I've got some coke," I said.
She started to cry.
My social skills were lacking. Clearly.
I tried again, "What's wrong?"
She said, "I like you."
I said, "You hate me."
Patricia looked up again, this time directly into my eyes. "Why did you get me into trouble last year?"
I sighed, then met her gaze, "Let it go. I didn't even know you. You're name was the first one I thought of. I didn't care. I don't care. You were just... there."
"So, you don't care. Whatever."
I looked at her. "You're all right."
Just as I was about to ask if she wanted to smoke some more weed or something, she leaned in and kissed me. On the lips.
"Wha-" My mouth was wide open, gaping at her. "What was that?!"
"I'm sorry," she said, shaking her head.
We said nothing. Her hand had fallen on mine and I didn't move it.
Patricia kissed me again. This time she moved with feeling and pressed herself against me and -wow- did she feel nice. To my complete surprise, I felt my body responding. Instead of pulling back, I returned her kiss and we started making out with an intensity to rival any teenage couple.
Although she was the initial aggressor, this strange feeling started to fall over me. I had never felt it before. Later, I would realize. It was lust.
I eased a hand behind her head and felt the softness of her hair. Her eyes were closed and she was breathing in halted movement.
"Lay back," I said, easing her back on the grass just behind the logs where we had been sitting.
Her fiery hair fanned back against the ground framing her face. She reached a hand up to touch me, but I leaned back just out of reach. Letting her eyes fall upon me, I took off my leather jacket and tossed it to the side.
Arching back over Patricia, I held myself up with one arm and let the other slowly unbutton her white lacy shirt. First, one button, and then another, slowly unveiling the pale yellow scalloped edge bra she wore underneath. She drew in breath sharply feeling the cool breeze against her nipples, which strained erect against the sheer undergarment.
Putting a hand on either side of her, I leaned in and kissed her once again full on the lips. It was such a rush. So different than anything else I had experienced. After some kissing I nervously moved down toward her delicate bra and, through the semi-transparent material put my lips around her protruding nipples -first one and then the other- before kissing the silky pale skin in between.
She moaned, "Unhook it," and arched her back up slightly.
Delighted and excited, I did, revealing magnificence a top a perfect sixteen-year-old form. Her nipples were pale pink and perfectly round. The breasts themselves were dotted very slightly with freckles matching the ones that accented her face. Finally able to feel them directly, I let my hands run over them caressing from the sides gently as I moved in to kiss her again. As we kissed, I reached under my own breasts and pulled off my t-shirt and unhooked my bra.
Patricia reached up with tentative hands and pulled my nipples toward her mouth gently suckling first one and then the other. Lightly circling them with her tongue and then sucking ...at first lightly and then with a bit more pressure, her teeth giving just a tiny bit of nibble.
With a free hand, Patricia moved down toward my jeans, rubbing me between my upper thighs. The difference between her touch and the clumsy fondling of the dark haired boy was incredible. I longed to see what treasures lay hidden beneath her clothes as well.
"Are we going all of the way?" I asked.
"Why not?" she said.
Doing a cursory look around the woods to make sure we were still alone, we completely stripped. I hopped out of my jeans. She removed her jeans, finished taking off the shirt I had unbuttoned and also removed a lacy scarf she had worn, presumably as protection from the September chill.
Still on top, I smiled at her warmly with feelings I did not recognize. I ran my hands over her breasts, leaned in and kissed them, and then, kissing her all the way down, made my way between her legs.
"Can I touch you?" I asked.
"Ok...." she said. "But I never did this before." Then she added "With a girl."
"I understand," I said. "Me neither. With a girl."
Wondering if I would be turned on or disgusted, I took a deep breath and positioned myself so that my face was level with her pussy. Her legs were bent and spread to the side as if opening for a boy. Her alabaster skin seemed to glow in the night and was covered with just a few reddish hairs. Using two fingers, I eased her outer pussy lips apart. I was amazed at how different she looked than I. But, I was pleased with what I saw and thrilled with the feelings she brought up inside me. Right then, my desire was to take her soft, rosy, cunt lips to my tongue and taste her -which is exactly what I did. She gasped in surprise and pleasure.
"You're wonderful," I said, as I continued to lightly trace around her outer lips with my tongue. With each rotation, she tasted even more sweet and I willed myself to go deeper. Finally, as I moved my tongue toward the hood of her clit, I asked, "Can I put a finger inside of you?"
"Yes," she said, so softly I could barely hear her.
I licked my index finger to get it nice and wet and slowly put it inside of her hooking it very slightly as I entered. She felt fleshy and tight. As I moved in and out, I licked just the side of her hood, to stimulate her the way I would want someone to stimulate me. The way I sometimes touched myself in my bedroom, when I let my thoughts wander.
"Oh God...." she said. "Right there."
The power I felt, causing her to react this way was incredible. I was in complete control over this person.
In and out, I moved my finger bringing it upward and slightly to the side with each inward movement. As I continued, and could feel her tensing, I increased the speed of my tongue movements until I was flicking against her clit with speedy regularity.
"Oh yes! Oh yes! Oh yes!" she cried.
Wow! I was going to make this girl come!
With one deep movement I pushed into her while sucking on hard on her hood and suddenly I felt her whole body shake, tense up, and then fall lax to the ground as she said, "Oh my God!"
"Did you come?" I asked, looking up at her splayed out on the ground.
Beaming, she said, "Did I ever!"
Then, staring at me wickedly, she said, "Your turn!"
Here, I have to admit that I was nervous. Not just because of my young age, although of course that was part of it, but because I was not even sure I could have an orgasm with her. You see, I had never formed any sort of meaningful connection with another human being, let alone one so powerful that would allow me to have an orgasm. Sure, I could respond to her touch and appreciate her naked body, but to really let myself go? Was it possible?
I decided to try.
Reversing positions --and roles-- I lay on the soft grass and let her take control. Her touch was pleasant and almost romantic. I remember thinking, if I was going to feel something for anyone, maybe it would be her. She kissed my breasts with perfect, full lips. Her eye lashes brushed against my skin. Her hair fell upon me.
The things one remembers.
Her hands eased my legs apart. Just before she licked me, she looked up and we exchanged the briefest glance. There was a tragic foreboding in her eyes, as if she had just learned something meaningful and now had to make a decision -she wasn't prescient, but maybe perceptive. Still, I smiled. She smiled. We moved forward in our sexual congress...
She was a novice lover but her tongue moved pleasantly inside me coming up against the sides of my cunt, trying its best to give me satisfaction. I put my hands gently in her hair. I arched my head back. I allowed my mind to wander. I counted the stars. I closed my eyes. I closed them tighter.
She sensed it to and moved up my nipples suckling them once again. I breathed in deep and imagined every sexy scenario I could conjure up in my mind. If I tried hard I could almost place her there....almost imagine. I bit down on my lip, my brows furrowed in concentration. Wanting to feel that burst of excitement.
Now, we were lips to lips, french kissing. Hard. I closed my eyes and held her naked body to me, our young breasts pressed together. I stroked her back and once again let my thoughts flow through me. Every image that ever came to me as I masturbated in my bedroom appeared in my mind and I welcomed them. To hell with resisting! With my masturbatory thoughts as my companions, I kissed Patricia with renewed passion and rolled her over, resuming my role on top.
"Oooo," she grinned, "You like it on top."
But she was already gone. I could hear her, but it was like she was speaking from the other side of Plexiglas. Everything she said to me was audible, but didn't register. Instead, her words met an invisible wall, keeping me from from being impacted by any of her emotions. I was lost in a world in which new doors of lusty passion were being thrown open. Like a woman possessed, I moved upon her, roaming her body, feeling her skin, allowing myself to be electrified by this life force moving under me. I was in control.
Her scarf hung clumsy over a log and I grabbed it. Before she could protest I had it wrapped tightly around her neck and was pulling on it. The look in her eyes was startling. I understood, then, what real terror looked like. I had seen the precursors of horror before, in others, when I had done other things. But this was different. There was the unspoken and nonnegotiable component of finality. It wasn't a situation where one could reason, "When this is over, I will..." because one wouldn't.
Patricia was under me struggling, unable to speak, and I was too scared to let up for even a moment.
God! Now, I felt it. This was passion. Patricia's eyes tore into me like fire and her hands reached up to meet mine in a hot struggle. Her knee shot up in a desperate fight for life, and, as it met my cunt, my pussy nearly exploded under the sensation. I thought I'd come right there!
"Holy Shit!" I yelled. So, this is what everyone had been talking about.
I squeezed harder and her face started to darken. Her eyes turning less angry and more pleading. Damn... I was so turned on at this moment. Our young, naked bodies, were right together, flesh to flesh. It was so intimate. Just as much as she was fighting to live, I was fighting for her to die.
For a moment, the scarf slipped and she started coughing, saying "Please.... no" and her words spurred me further. I yanked the scarf as hard as I could leaning back allowing her body to use gravity as leverage against her. Tighter and tighter I pulled, until I thought my arms would break. All the while, I ground my pussy up against her naked leg allowing myself to be stimulated nearly to the point of orgasm.
I was actually going to have my first orgasm! I could feel it.
"OH MY GOD....I'M ACTUALLY GOING TO COME!"
Her body was shaking violently. The process, which probably didn't take that long, seemed to go on forever. As much as I could I looked into her eyes, trying to catch that exact moment when she stopped being a live person and just ....stopped. And then, right when I thought I couldn't stand it any longer, it happened. I felt a warmness rush over me that I never felt before. Patricia had pissed herself and I knew she was dying....was dead... and I was holding on to her broken neck, kissing a still warm, but dead thing... and all the sudden, I felt this heroin like glow emanating from my pussy.
"Wow!" I was actually coming. I let go of the now useless scarf and pulled Patricia's body up against me and just let my orgasm ride over me.
Afterward, I felt a mixture of emotions that is almost impossible to describe. There was an overwhelming sense of relief and release. Knowing that I could feel passion. That it was within me. But there was also an almost crushing sadness at knowing at what cost. And of course, there was fear, of being discovered. It was a lot for a fifteen-year-old to handle.
A few days later, I ran into Sara outside school and she was frantic.
"Holy shit!" she said, grabbing on to me. "You're psychic!"
I stood there, my face blank. "What are you talking about?"
Sara eyes were saucers. "Patricia! She was murdered! You called it!"
"I called it?"
"At Convenience! You said she'd die? Well, she did! Don't you watch the news?"
I said nothing.
"It was THAT NIGHT. She went to meet YOU. Do you know what that means?"
My stomach started to turn.
"It means," Sara continued, as if lecturing a student, "that if you had actually shown up for the fight, you BOTH would have been murdered!"
And so it was, that for the rest of high school I had a reputation as a crazy-witch-quasi-psychic, but was never a suspect. I was never even questioned or looked at by the authorities. Apparently, it is easier to believe that a pretty fifteen-year-old girl can tell the future than it is to believe that she might actually hurt someone.